


Seven Down

by Armengard



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Chlodine - Freeform, Chlodine Week 2019, F/F, Injury Recovery, Obedience, Post-Game, Praise Kink, Pre-Relationship, Shameless Smut, Uncharted: The Lost Legacy - Freeform, doting, light lifestyle bdsm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-08-19 02:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20202517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armengard/pseuds/Armengard
Summary: It isn't a big deal, her being there, Nadine tells herself, the day she arrives in London and hails a cab downtown.All she's doing, really, is helping to take care of a friend in need.(anyone order some uhhhhhhh praise kink)





	Seven Down

It isn't a big deal, her being there, Nadine tells herself, the day she arrives in London and hails a cab downtown. All she's doing, really, is helping to take care of a friend in need. 

She's stayed with Chloe before, anyways, at the very apartment she's headed to now, though never for longer than a day—usually just overnight, before a job or after one, which means this will be interesting, to say the least. 

Lateral malleolus fracture, said the doctor. Or, a broken ankle. Six to eight weeks of no climbing sheer cliff walls, leaping gaping chasms, or treasure hunting of any kind. 

Nadine was livid it’d happened at all. Chloe, annoyed, and perhaps somewhat resigned that maybe that quick, solo trip to Egypt hadn’t been the best idea, especially when the tip she got from a sketchy contact of hers didn’t exactly pan out. Nadine was planning on breaking his legs if she ever saw him again.

“Listen,” was the first thing Chloe said over the phone after almost three days of radio silence, sounding tired and harried but very much alive. “First off, everything’s cool. I know it’s late and I haven’t called you in ages and all but—bit of bad news on my end. Tip was rubbish. Didn’t find a thing. Or, well, I did find the tomb, but it was picked clean.”

“Figures,” said Nadine in a sleepy growl. It was past midnight in Johannesburg. She had set her ringtone louder than usual so it would wake her if Chloe called, and was glad she had, for all the hair pulling, pacing and worrying she’d done over the past few days.

“Right?” Chloe said. “I spent hours in there, for what? Couple dead scorpions and some broken pottery.”

“Nothing you haven’t done before.”

That earned a laugh. The sound of it eased the knot of worry that had been growing in Nadine's stomach since Chloe left, very much against her partner’s advice. “Heading back soon, then?”

“In a bit,” Chloe replied flippantly. “Might look into a few other leads while I’m here. Save me this trip, yeah? Say, do you know how long it took me to find cell reception here? Bloody forever. And let me tell you about the sand, it gets _everywhere_. Had to sleep in the jeep last night, too. Nearly froze my arse off. Took lots of pictures, though. I'll send you some. Oh, and I broke my ankle.”

And then she kept right on, with Nadine laying there in bed with her mouth hanging open.

“—and then this morning I—”

_ “FRAZER—!” _

Nadine's resultant tirade lasted almost fifteen minutes, leaving her throat sore from raising her voice and her hand cramped from the grip on her phone. After _that_ well-earned earful, Chloe apologized for not leading with her injury—"Sorry, love, but really, don't know what all the fuss is about"—though it still took Nadine the better part of the night and into the morning before she wasn’t so angry.

Then she heard Chloe was planning on flying home to London for her recovery, intent on stumping about on an awkward pair of crutches while all alone in her (as Chloe called it) “shitty little flat"—located high on the eighteenth floor of an old, medically-unaccomodating building, no less. Nadine protested. Chloe resisted. A fierce argument ensued.

Eventually, Chloe snapped, “If you’re so bloody worried about it, china, why don’t you come take care of me yourself?”

It was a joke, or maybe a challenge, and not a request of any kind. Still, after only a moment’s consideration, Nadine answered, “Fine then, I will.”

“What—that’s not—no!” Chloe blustered. 

They fought for nearly half an hour before coming to a reluctant compromise; Nadine would only stay until Chloe was better able to care for herself, and no longer at the risk of trying to go adventuring about too early. Stubborn and headstrong as she knew her partner to be, however, Nadine wasn’t sure how long that might take, if at all.

—

“It’s open!” Chloe hollers when Nadine knocks on the door to her apartment. Sighing—leaving the front door unlocked, really, Frazer?—Nadine walks in, then shuts and bolts the latch behind her. Chloe's on the couch, playing on her phone, laptop open on the coffee table. She looked well, other than the bulky, bright red cast on her left ankle, the leg of her jeans rolled up tightly to her knee to make room. 

“China!” Chloe cries when she sees her, and stands a bit too fast for Nadine’s taste, wobbling tenuously on her one good foot. 

“Easy, Frazer,” she says grudgingly, returning Chloe’s enthusiastic hug. She looks happy Nadine's there, and Nadine finds she feels the same. It's one thing to talk to her partner on the phone and hear her voice, but another to actually see her with her own two eyes, well and in relatively one piece.

“Brought everything but the kitchen sink, I see,” Chloe teases, eyeing Nadine’s one modest duffel. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

Nadine gives a short laugh and puts her bag by the couch, where she'll be sleeping while she's there. Chloe’s apartment is exactly as she remembers it—messy, old, and cramped, with a semi-sizable living room, a small kitchen, a half-bath, and a single bedroom with a connected shower. They'll have to get used to each other in close quarters, fast, though that doesn't seem too difficult, considering all the time they spend together in collapsed tombs and ancient crypts on a regular basis. 

“Sorry,” says Chloe, looking only slightly sheepish about the sleeping situation. “We can swap, if you—”

“I’ve slept on alot worse for longer,” Nadine replies, unbothered.

They spend a bit catching up with one another, falling into their usual easy rhythm during down time of casual conversation and friendly banter. Chloe talks about Egypt, and the accident, caused by loose rocks and poor risk-assessing. In return, Nadine tells her about South Africa, and how her mother's doing. It's sweet how Chloe always asks about her, having lost her own mother some time before. 

It doesn't take long—an hour, tops—for Nadine to discover an injured Chloe is an exceedingly needy Chloe. Her demands are frequent and excessive, exacerbated by her inability to do much of anything herself, which probably is the root of their problem, as Chloe hated giving up control in _any_ way. Rather than grow annoyed or impatient, Nadine finds she doesn't mind the many but relatively simple tasks her partner gives her throughout the rest of the morning and afternoon, like hopping down the block to the store for groceries, or fetching whatever Chloe needs around the apartment, as they each help Chloe in one way or another, and that's exactly what Nadine's there for; to help.

As the day passes and the hours together mount, Nadine can't help but struggle not to feel as though she's intruding upon her partner's private space, though Chloe doesn't seem to care about anything other than_ Don’t eat my Vegemite, and don’t leave the toilet seat up, love_. Still, for politeness sake, Nadine doesn't pry anywhere in the apartment she shouldn't unless Chloe specifically asks for something, and keeps most of her own things neatly in her duffel, mindful not to make a mess. Or, add to it, at least.

For supper, Nadine cooks them an easy meal of vegetable stir-fry with rice—Chloe groans appreciatively at the first bite, "Real food, my _god_"—and as evening settles in, they sit up together on the couch later than Nadine is used to, watching mindless television while Chloe bends awkwardly to paint her toenails in between attempts to get Nadine to eat some of her odd American snacks Nathan sends her every few weeks or so. (It's all surprisingly domestic, when Nadine thinks about it.)

“Cut it out,” she growls, as Chloe waves a distressingly orange square-shaped cracker in front of her face. Chloe just laughs and pops it into her mouth, crunching away. The varnish on her toenails smells sharp, acidic almost.

“Come on, china,” she weedles. “Live a little.”

“No,” says Nadine. Aside from the unnatural color, they seem terribly unhealthy.

“Oh, boo!”

(Nadine does eventually eat one. It tastes nothing like real cheese and she refuses another.)

It's past 11PM when Chloe, yawning widely, toenails painted a glossy candy-apple red to match her cast, hefts herself onto her crutches with a tired smile. 

“That was fun,” she says. “Us, hanging out. We should do it more often.” She laughs. “Like a date night, y’know?”

Nadine rolls her eyes and follows Chloe to her bedroom to make sure she doesn't need anything else before they turn in. It's only after she steps inside she realizes the subtle intimacy of seeing Chloe’s small, rumpled bed, messy closet, and her dozens of dog-eared photographs strewn about—her late parents, the Drakes, Victor, other friends. There's even a picture of Nadine, tacked above Chloe's headboard; a worn candid from India taken when she wasn’t looking. 

“All set?” she asks when Chloe emerges from her bathroom, one crutch tucked under her arm. She's changed into a loose, comfortable-looking sleep shirt, jeans still on.

“Just about,” says Chloe, casting the crutch aside with a sigh before unbuttoning her pants and shoving them clumsily down to her knees. She collapses onto the bed to get them off the rest of the way, wincing as the hem snags and bunches tightly on her cast. “Ah. A little help?”

Trying not to stare—for all their close quarters, Nadine has never seen Chloe so undressed before—Nadine holds her by the foot and gradually works the denim free, pretending it's no different from helping Chloe dress a grazing wound out in the field, though it certainly doesn't feel the same.

“Thanks, love,” Chloe says, curling up to her pillow with another sigh. She looks tired. 

“Ja,” says Nadine, reaching for the light.

“Listen, Nadine,” Chloe says abruptly, tone low, husking and sincere. “I’m, ah. I’m happy you’re here, y’know?” She gives Nadine a warm, private sort of smile that's just between them. “You always do take such good care of me.”

“...Ja,” Nadine says again, hoping Chloe won't notice the slight hoarseness in her voice, the tremble in her hands at those words. 

“Anyways,” Chloe says, turning her face into her pillow and yawning again. “See you in the morning. 'Night.”

“Goodnight,” Nadine replies. She turns off the light, leaves, and for the first time since landing in London that morning, wonders if maybe she's made a mistake, coming here.

—

She hasn't thought this through, Nadine realizes, lying on the couch in the gloom of the living room and listening to the faint sounds of bustling London traffic eighteen floors below, and Chloe shifting about in her bed through the half-closed door a dozen feet away, fighting a rising sense of dread. She'll have to be more careful from now on. Not so obvious. One slip, and it'll be out.

(Not that it isn't _already_ out, as apparently, up until a month or two ago, practically everyone knew about it except her. It doesn't surprise Nadine to hear this, as she’s been called oblivious before, mostly by her mother, but also more than a few ex-girlfriends.) 

It's odd, how it works. This… affliction of hers she doesn't want to name; she wouldn't know the word for it, even if she did want to call it something.

Frankly put, taking orders from others doesn't bother her. While in Shoreline, Nadine took hundreds—thousands, even—without a problem, and gave them as well when she became the boss. Back then, receiving approval or commendation for accomplishing a task never meant anything. It was simply her duty. Something expected of her.

And so why, for whatever reason, does it change as soon as it's Chloe giving the orders, Chloe handing out the praise… It's different, then. It _ matters_. Far more than it should.

In the beginning, it seemed natural to follow Chloe’s lead. She was the take-charge type, the expert when it came to adventuring and treasure hunting. Nadine was the newbie, the amateur, so of course she deferred to her partner for most business decisions. What had Chloe said, on their very first job, back in India?

_ This is _ my _ gig. We play by _ my _ rules. _

(Was _that_ where it all began, then? Nadine wonders sometimes. Where her preference… dare she say _ fondness _for being told what to do by her partner started?)

Lately, however, she's noticed it extended past work, even to the simplest things, like where they went to eat—what did that matter to Nadine, when anything was better than MREs—where to sleep—so long as she had a place to rest her head, Nadine had no opinion on the matter—or even what to watch on television, or listen to the radio.

A month ago, Nadine wouldn’t have noticed such trivial things, or the control she willingly gave to Chloe over them. It wouldn’t have bothered her like it did now.

But then there was that weekend at the Drake’s.

She and Chloe had been invited over to Nathan's place in the states to celebrate an American holiday, the fourth of July. Though it'd been some time since their tangle in Scotland and Madagascar, Nathan and Samuel were still wary around Nadine—for her part, Nadine couldn’t care less about Nathan. Sam, she wanted to strangle on sight, but that was normal. 

For lunch, they had a barbecue on the beach. Everything was going well. Once the food was ready, Nadine, without much thought, gathered up a plate for Chloe before getting one for herself, only because the other woman was so busy chatting with Elena she hadn’t noticed everyone else sitting down to eat; Nadine simply wanted to save her partner the trouble of scrambling about for food after the fact. 

By the time Chloe wandered over, looking famished, and saw the full plate ready for her on the chair beside Nadine, she smiled brightly and said, “What would I do without you, china? Thanks.”

Nadine nodded and smiled back, pleased Chloe was happy.

Then Sam glanced over, smoking one of those foul cigarettes of his, and gave Nadine a derisive sneer.

“What, you're servin’ her now?” he laughed. “Jesus. Talk about whipped.”

Nathan made an uncomfortable sound at the comment, halfway between a laugh and a groan. Victor merely grunted disapprovingly. Elena shot Sam an irritated look, then elbowed her husband to intercede. Chloe was conspicuously quiet, face blank.

Sam, perhaps sensing he'd pushed a little far, tried to play it off as a joke, whining, “Gee, Nadine, where’s mine?” 

Nadine bristled. Firstly, _serving _ was the wrong word for what she’d done. To her, it was more of a favor. So what if she liked the grateful way Chloe looked at her when she did those sorts of things, or the warm thanks she’d get in exchange sometimes. Waiting those extra few seconds before getting her own food was, in her opinion, worth it. And then, just imagining it—gathering someone else a plate, even if it was only Victor or Elena—didn’t sit anywhere so well as getting Chloe one.

“Oh, piss off, Sam,” Chloe cut in, mouth full. “Elena, tell me how your show’s going.”

Luckily, Sam dropped it after that, though Nadine felt self-conscious for the rest of the meal, distinctly aware of a few pointed, knowing looks from the others while they ate. Was she really so obvious?

She hadn’t thought so, but then even Cassie, a three-year-old, made a similar observation, a bit later in the day. 

“Aun’ Nay-_deen_,” she asked, pail in one hand, plastic shovel in the other, wearing a brightly colored swimsuit with a cartoon fish on the front, “kin yoo as’ Aun’ Coh-wee if yoo kin com’ down t’ thuh wadah wif me? I wanna mak’ a cassul.” 

Chloe, of course, was standing right there, listening to every word. She even choked on her drink. The face she made wasn’t exactly gleeful, but it was close, utterly delighted a little girl barely more than a toddler had somehow deduced Chloe was the boss of Nadine.

“Well?” Chloe prompted, hand on her hip and eyebrow quirked, smug as you please.

Nadine rolled her eyes; she did _ not _ need permission to build sand castles with a child. Rather than correct the rather innocent if misguided assumption, she took Cassie by the hand and said, “Let’s go, _ bokkie_.” Pointedly ignoring Chloe, she walked the small girl down to the water while her partner cackled and called out after them, “Make sure you teach her about proper castle defense! Put a couple _ trebuchets _ out front, at least.” 

Playing in the sand with Cassie, Nadine let herself imagine it, only for a moment—asking Chloe permission for something so mundane as escorting a child to the beach—and didn't like the way it made her feel afterwards, but not because it rankled her. 

Actually, it was the opposite.

Since then, Nadine stopped trying to find a name or reason for it. She just… _ liked _ it—how Chloe could ask her for something, and Nadine could do it. It made her feel good. Not needed, exactly, but appreciated. Besides, the things she was asked of were always relatively easy, and doing them made Chloe happy. It wasn’t about—_subservience_, or anything like Sam had implied. It was about Nadine being given a small, simple purpose, and fulfilling that purpose to earn some type of reward, even if it was just a nod, a grateful look, a warm smile, or a kind word. 

And what, really, was the harm in that?

—

Nadine sleeps marginally well on the couch, jet-lagged and anxious as she is, and wakes early with the intent of getting back into her own rhythm of things. First order is finding a way or a place to exercise, something she never neglects for long. Already, she can feel her body teeming with a nervous, unspent energy, craving the ache of hard-worked muscles, bone-deep fatigue and heavy calm only harsh exercise can bring her. 

Chloe doesn't have free weights, but she does have a dusty treadmill folded up and parked in the corner of her living room. Nadine eyes it for the better part of the morning until Chloe finally wakes up and she's able to ask her about it—doing so, she can't help but think again of that day on the beach with Cassie, and the planted idea of having to ask Chloe for permission to do the simplest things. 

But this is different, she tries to tell herself despite the odd, tight feeling building in her stomach. This isn't about asking permission. It's about being polite.

“Can I use your treadmill?” she asks, while Chloe eats breakfast. Chloe just waves a hand, busy with her toast, eyes fastened on her phone.

“Track skips, so watch your feet."

In the half-bath, Nadine changes to running shorts and a tanktop. As soon as she walks back into the living room, Chloe’s head comes up, and Nadine, who's never been self-conscious about her body, feels herself go a little warm. Doing her best to ignore her audience, she laces up her running shoes, sets the treadmill down, powers it on, warms herself with a light jog, and then starts a pounding run paced at her average, a seven-minute mile.

Two miles in, settled into her stride, she feels a twinge and glances at the table to find Chloe still watching her with marked interest. When their eyes meet, Chloe smirks and winks rather than look away, because only Chloe Frazer would make absolutely no effort to conceal the fact she's staring. _Eish._ The track under Nadine's feet skips slightly, just then, forcing her attention back on her running.

She stops at six miles, not because she's tired, but because she's afraid Chloe might find it irritating, the constant thrum of the treadmill and the steady smack of her feet as she runs. 

“Don’t know ‘bout you, but _ my _ heartrate’s up,” Chloe jokes when Nadine steps off the track. Nadine doesn't laugh, too winded, legs aching already, though Chloe chuckles enough for the both of them. Wiping sweat off her chin with her forearm, she bends to undo her sneakers, then stands to find Chloe watching her again, seeming almost to be waiting for something, one eyebrow cocked haughtily.

What is—? ...Oh. 

“Can I use your shower?” Nadine asks. It hadn’t occurred to her she might need to ask for that as well, but the only shower in the apartment is through Chloe’s bedroom, so of course she will. 

That eyebrow twitches, and Chloe smiles, looking... _smug _ for some reason, but all she says is, “Towels are in there,” pointing to a cupboard. Nadine grabs one and a change of clothes from her bag, and then showers as she always does—quickly and efficiently. 

When she steps out, she still feels tense, though she's not sure exactly why. She thinks of the smug look on Chloe’s face again—the quirk of her eyebrow, the curl of her lip—and of all the other things she'll need to ask her partner permission for, in the coming days, and suppresses a sudden shiver.

Anywhere else, Nadine is sure this wouldn't be a problem for her, but with Chloe, it is. Because there's a difference between asking other people for things, and asking Chloe. She wishes she knew why.

—

The next night, after supper, Chloe starts on a crossword and then asks for tea during their supposed “date night”—she uses the term all the time now, jokingly, just to make Nadine scowl. Nadine obliges, grabbing Chloe’s usual fare, Earl Grey, from the cupboard, putting the kettle on and pouring by rote. When it's done, she brings the steaming cup out and sets it on the coffee table.

“Thanks, love,” says Chloe. She takes the cup and sips it. Her face twitches.

“What is it?” Nadine asks.

“Nothing,” Chloe says quickly.

“Chloe,” Nadine says. Chloe sighs.

“Was sort of in the mood for some Black,” she says, then rushes on, “but this is fine, I don’t mind—”

But Nadine's already up. “_Eish_, sorry. Should have said so.” She reaches for the cup but Chloe pulls it back. “Please, Chloe, just let me.” Chloe protests only once more, weakly, before surrendering her cup. Nadine returns to the kitchen and puts the kettle on for another brew. 

When she hands the second cup over, placing it on the coffee table where she put the first, there is an odd, thoughtful look on Chloe's face, though it disappears as soon as Nadine sits down, covered up by a broad smile. “Thank you, Nadine.”

“Sure,” says Nadine, swallowing down the happy flutter she gets anytime Chloe uses that warm, grateful tone with her, and watches as the other woman takes a sip, appearing much more content this time around.

Chloe politely asks for another cup once she finishes the first. Nadine gets her one. This time, Chloe takes a sip and puts her cup down. The thoughtful look on her face is back. 

“Nadine,” she says suddenly, her tone light. Testing. “Think I could have a bit more milk in this?”

Nadine blinks. By Chloe’s expression she expected her request to be something a lot worse than that. More milk is simple enough. “Ja.” She stands, goes to the kitchen, finds the milk, and brings it to her.

“And a spoon?” Chloe ventures, somewhat tentatively. Like she expects Nadine to say no.

Nadine just shrugs, unbothered, returns to the kitchen and gets a spoon.

Chloe adds the milk and stirs her tea with the spoon. She sips it and her face twitches again. Without realizing it, Nadine finds she's already on her feet before Chloe even finishes saying, “It’s gone a little cool. Could you—?” Her tone now is pensive. As if maybe she thinks she's gone too far. Nadine supposes anyone else would be annoyed by the runaround, but as for herself, she simply takes the cup from Chloe, goes again to the kitchen, and adds a bit more tea from the still steaming kettle.

When she returns, Chloe takes the cup from her with a warm, gracious smile. Nadine hovers for a moment, waiting to see if Chloe might need something else. She only sits when Chloe winks at her and murmurs a soft, “Thanks.”

Sipping and humming to herself in satisfaction, Chloe shifts sideways, then lifts her feet and waggles them about. Nadine stares at them, momentarily confused, and then realizes what Chloe wants and moves her arms, allowing her partner to deposit her feet in her lap. 

It's quiet after that. Nadine watches television, a nature documentary, but absorbs nothing, wondering what all that was about with the tea and feeling as though she's missed something, or maybe passed some sort of test she didn't know she was taking. Beside her, Chloe drinks the rest of her tea, scratching away at her crossword. Once her teacup is empty, she sets it on the coffee table with a pleased air.

“Seven down... Eight-letter word for submissive to authority?” she asks suddenly in a sultry purr.

Nadine feels a low pulse, and is at once acutely aware of the weight of Chloe’s warm feet in her lap, the pressure of her cast-heavy heel against her inner thigh. She looks away, swallows hard. 

“Obedient,” she says quietly.

“_Ah_,” says Chloe, sounding satisfied, and fills it in.

—

On their next date night—no, Nadine's _not_ happy she’s gotten into the habit of calling it that now, too—Nadine heads off to pick up their supper; take-out from an Indian restaurant a few blocks down. When she gets there, she notices Chloe's forgotten to order her favorite dessert—gulab jamuns, a deep fried milk solid soaked in sugary syrup so sweet Nadine literally can't eat them, while Chloe seems unable to get enough. After only a short deliberation, she turns around and waits an extra fifteen minutes just so she can order a fresh batch. 

Back at the apartment, Chloe greets her at the door with her usual happy smile, as if she’s somehow missed Nadine in her short time away. When she sees the sweets, her face lights up.

“Nadine, is that—oh my god.” She throws herself forward and hugs Nadine fiercely with one arm, right there in the doorway, then races over to the table (or, well, hobbles quickly with her one crutch). Before Nadine can stop her, she opens the container and drops one of the sweets whole into her mouth.

“You’ll spoil your dinner,” Nadine chides, still in the process of removing her shoes, though she can't help but grin at the exquisite look on Chloe’s face.

Chloe groans and licks syrup off her fingers, regarding Nadine through lowered lids. “You’re the _ best_, china.” 

Nadine just sits and starts on her own food, trying not to focus too hard on how very pleased it makes her to hear Chloe say that.

Later, after they stuff themselves silly with good food and watch an insipid comedy in Chloe's Netflix queue, Chloe turns in while Nadine takes a moment to pick up around the apartment, trying to keep Chloe’s messes to a minimum. She will not have her partner tripping on some stray detritus and injuring herself any further than she already has. She hears a loud chug as the shower shuts off, and then the thump of crutches as Chloe crosses the room to her bed. Nadine waits until she's sure Chloe is dressed before approaching the half-closed bedroom door and knocking politely.

“Come in,” comes Chloe’s soft, tired husk. Feeling, as always, that she's intruding on something private, Nadine enters. 

Inside, it's dim, a single lamp glowing reddish-yellow on the nightstand. Chloe's sitting at the side of her bed, her wet hair up in a loose, messy bun, already changed into her usual sleep shirt and underwear. Her naked thighs are brown and bare, the bright red cast on her ankle an abrupt interruption to her slender, tapered calf. She looks already half-asleep.

“Do you need anything else, before bed?” Nadine asks softly.

“Hmm,” says Chloe, flopping backwards and stretching, catlike, across her sheets. Nadine looks away, trying to pretend she isn't staring at the flexing length of Chloe’s legs, or the flat plane of her stomach. “Glass of water wouldn’t hurt, I suppose.”

Nadine takes the empty glass on her nightstand into the kitchen to fill it. When she returns, she finds Chloe struggling to get under the covers, her thick cast catching on the sheet. Nadine helps her get untangled and tucks her in, smoothing the blanket against the curve of Chloe's shoulder, only feeling foolish once she's done.

“Thanks, love,” Chloe purrs, watching her through heavy lids. “You’re so good to me, you know that?”

To her horror, Nadine flushes hotly. "Ja," she gets out stiffly.

Chloe’s smile grows big and sleepy. "'Night."

"'Night." As soon as Chloe rolls over and nuzzles into her pillow, Nadine turns the lamp off and leaves, being careful not to stomp in her haste, or slam the door shut after her. 

In the living room, she changes briskly for sleep and lies down, the couch creaking noisily under her. Her heart is beating nearly as hard as when she runs on the treadmill in the mornings, filling her ears with its rapidly thudding tempo. She stares up at the ceiling in the dark, feeling strangely lost and insecure, and finds herself wishing for someone to tell her what to do next.

—

Several days go by without incident. Chloe keeps her teasing to a minimum. Nadine is pitifully grateful, though they do still have their little date nights in the evenings. Despite herself, Nadine finds she likes them—it's nice, how she and Chloe can sit quietly and do nothing but enjoy each other’s casual company, and talk so easily about important things, or even stupid ones. 

Finishing up a pounding morning run, she powers the machine down and catches her breath as she unlaces her sneakers and picks them up; she used to leave her shoes on the floor by the treadmill, something she’s recently learned Chloe finds annoying, going by her pointed stares—just like the one she's giving Nadine now from her spot lazing on the couch, lips pursed, open magazine held flat to her jutted chin. 

In Nadine’s opinion, it's a bit hypocritical, as the rest of Chloe’s apartment seems fair game for messes, but this isn't her place and she's just a guest, so she places her sneakers on the shoe rack by the door where they belong with little fanfare before digging through her duffel for a change of clothing. From the corner of her eye, she sees Chloe go happily back to her reading. 

She's grabbed a shirt and shorts and is walking away, anxious for a shower, when suddenly she hears Chloe say almost distractedly, under her breath, “Good girl.” 

Luckily, by the time it hits her, Nadine is already behind Chloe and out of her view of sight, so when her foot stutters and she jerks to a sudden halt, the other woman’s head stays bent to her magazine. After a moment, Nadine continues to walk—she does _not_ run—through Chloe’s bedroom and into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her, hoping desperately Chloe didn't noticed her falter.

But Chloe, of course, has.

“Everything okay?” she asks when Nadine emerges from the shower, still shivering from the cold water she’s subjected herself to as some strange form of punishment.

“...Ja.” Nadine doesn't dare say anything else.

Chloe merely smiles at her as if nothing is the matter and flips a page in her magazine, saying, “Good," and then doesn't mention it again for the rest of the day.

But then Nadine hears it the next day, when she brings up Chloe’s mail without prompting and hands it to her after lunch.

Chloe takes it from her, pleased. “Ah—thanks, Nadine. Good girl.” She says it louder, this time, making no effort to conceal the words or allow them to be misconstrued. Nadine freezes with her hand still outstretched, struggling to control her reaction. Flipping nonchalantly through her envelopes, Chloe pays her no mind, as if there's absolutely nothing strange about calling her partner such a thing. Nadine can't find it in herself to tell her to stop, either.

Then, as if to torture her, Chloe begins to say it more.

It's always used casually, and never when Nadine expects it, sometimes for the littlest things. _ Nadine, would you be a good girl and fetch me my laptop in the bedroom, please? _Or,_ Nadine, do you have the_—_oh, good girl, thank you. _

One evening, near supper, Chloe insists on cooking for Nadine. Something about it being _her turn_. Worried about her being on her feet, Nadine tries to stop her. Chloe brushes her off at first, but Nadine keeps at it until finally, Chloe's rarely-witnessed temper snaps.

“Sit. _ Down_,” she says loudly, in the sternest tone of voice Nadine has ever heard from her. “_Now_.”

Before she can realize what she's doing, Nadine's lowered herself immediately into the nearest chair, and then sits there for a long moment, stunned and not a little bewildered with herself.

“There,” Chloe says brightly, again with that smug look, like she expected nothing else. “That’s better. Good girl.” Then she turns and goes to work on the food, leaving Nadine feeling strange and a bit like she's passed another test, though for what, she hasn’t the faintest.

—

"Want to watch that special on elephants I marked for you?" Chloe asks.

Beside her on the couch, Nadine shrugs, noncommittal. It's past 10PM, and she sort of just wants to go to bed, but isn't about to kick Chloe out of the room to do it. Having these so-called date nights seem to cheer her up, anyways, as her ankle keeps her from doing, quote,_ nearly every-bloody-thing else she enjoys_. She’s even joined Chloe in drinking a few beers for the sake of camaraderie alone, though on the rare occasions she does imbibe, she prefers scotch.

Chloe takes her silence for the no that it is and flicks through the cabel channels instead. They watch a sitcom for only a few minutes before she switches to something else.

“Writing’s bloody awful with these sorts of shows,” she comments idly. “They always make the wife such a nag, bossing ‘round the husband and all that.”

Only mildly buzzed from her two beers, Nadine shrugs, not sure why that's such a bad thing, and blurts, “You boss _ me _ around.”

At that, Chloe bursts out laughing, though it didn’t seem mean or pitying, that laugh, but affectionate, which is a little strange.

“What’s so funny?” Nadine protests. “You do.”

Chloe seems to flounder for a moment, as if she can't quite believe they're talking about this. “Well, that’s—that’s different.”

“No, it isn’t," says Nadine.

“Yes, it is,” says Chloe. “‘Course I’m gonna boss you around sometimes. That's work. I know more than you, yeah? Pull that switch. Bring me that medallion. Hold up that mirror and look sharp. See?”

Tongue loosened by the alcohol, Nadine finds herself saying, almost petulantly, “But you do it all the time.”

Chloe snorts, and then mutters only partly to herself, “Only because you _ like _ it.”

At that, Nadine goes still. Though it’s gone unsaid between them for quite some time—her little secret that isn't exactly a secret at all—she’s never heard it spoken aloud until now. It feels almost like an accusation.

“I—I don’t—” she tries, pulse jumping, sweat rising to the back of her neck.

“Oh, please,” says Chloe flippantly, tipping her head back to drain the rest of her can. “Nadine Ross, you are probably the most repressed bottom I’ve ever met.”

At first, Nadine doesn't understand what Chloe means. Then it clicks, and she scowls. “I’m not… _ that_.”

Chloe rolls her eyes, putting her empty can on the armrest of the couch. “Oh, that’s cute.”

“_Cute?_” says Nadine, vaguely offended.

But Chloe keeps right on. “So, you mean to tell me that if we were dating, you wouldn’t—”

Nadine feels a warm, illicit thrill at the very idea. “We _ aren’t _ dating,” she cuts in stiffly. 

“I know that, love, let me finish. _ If _ we were dating—”

“But we’re not. So it doesn’t matter.” Nadine stands suddenly, feeling oddly panicked and upset, and, with nowhere else to go, stalks to the door, slips on her shoes—Chloe calling after her, “Wait, Nadine, I didn’t mean it like that!”—and walks out of the apartment, knowing with a coward's confidence that Chloe and her broken ankle won't be able to follow her. 

She circles the block twice before returning with a cooler, far more sober head than before. She takes the stairs up—all eighteen floors of them—and rounds the hallway corner with a heart racing not just from the effort alone, throat tight with some unknown emotion that feels close to shame. Chloe is waiting for her, half-hanging out of her apartment doorway, a crutch tucked under one arm, looking sorry and not a little worried. When she sees Nadine, her eyes go soft and pleading.

"Hey—"

Not wanting to argue again, Nadine simply puts her head down and slips past her into the apartment. Sensing the mood, Chloe quietly closes and locks the door as Nadine takes her shoes off and sits on the couch as she was before, ready to pretend nothing's happened. After a moment, Chloe joins her, the awkward silence between them filled with fake laughter and applause from the television.

During a commercial, Chloe clears her throat. “Sorry. About before.” She sounds entirely sincere, and Nadine sighs. Really, she isn't angry anymore. Just resigned.

“Me too. It's… a sore subject with me, I guess.”

“I shouldn’t have said those things,” Chloe says. “I should’ve just, I dunno, asked you about it, maybe.”

Unsure of how that might’ve gone, Nadine hesitates. “I… ”

Chloe glances over at her, then back to the television. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Nadine.”

Nadine appreciates that. Still, even with the unfavorable way she reacted only a few minutes ago, she finds she doesn't mind the idea of acknowledging it, now that it's already in the open. “It’s alright.”

Surprised, Chloe cocks her head at her, then adopts a thoughtful look on her face. She clears her throat. “So,” she says lightly, after a brief pause. “Ever let someone boss you around in the bedroom, then?”

About as subtle as a two-by-four to the face, that. Nadine almost wants to laugh. This is a topic she hoped never to discuss with another person, yet somehow she finds herself grumbling, “Most of the time, they want _ me _ to be the one doing the bossing.”

Chloe makes a sympathetic face. “Ah. Poor girl.”

“Look, I—I don’t like labels,” Nadine says, because she doesn't, and while she isn't upset anymore she still resents the fact that Chloe saw fit to give her one. Chloe, at least, has the decency to look regretful now.

“Sorry," she says. "Didn’t mean to. Just wanted to use it for like, an example.”

Again, it's quiet. Neither of them touch their beer. They just sit there, not really watching the television anymore, the space of the empty cushion between them solidifying until it almost becomes a living thing.

“It’s okay, you know,” Chloe says.

Nadine frowns. “What?” 

Chloe waves her hand. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it. If you are a—whatever. It doesn’t mean you’re… y’know. Weak, or anything like that—”

She cuts off abruptly, as though unsure of what to say next. Nadine is silent, hating that Chloe can read her so easily, that she can predict nearly all of her insecurities without even trying. It makes her feel stupid, for taking so long to realize the same things about herself. 

“You’re wrong,” she says suddenly, unable to let it go. “About me being a—what you said.”

“Oh?” Chloe fixes her with a challenging look. “Am I, now?”

“Yes,” says Nadine, stifling a wince. She's never been a good liar.

“Alright,” Chloe says, and turns so she's facing her on the couch, chin jutting stubbornly, arms crossed. “Go on then.” 

“Go on then, what?” 

“Tell me to do something. Give me an order.”

“I gave orders all the time when I ran Shoreline,” Nadine replies defensively, because she had.

“Sure you did,” Chloe says agreeably. “And I bet you bloody _ hated _ it.”

Nadine swallows. She _had_ hated it. More than anything. But she still did it, rather than let her father’s empire crumble to dust. And then it had anyways, falling out from under her no matter how she tried to claw it back together. Did it make her a bad person, how _ relieved _ she felt, afterwards, when Shoreline was gone? Knowing her decisions no longer carried the weight of the lives of all her men, freeing her from the gut-knotting, keep-you-up-at-night responsibility of anyone but herself, a duty she'd never wanted in the first place?

_Eish._ Maybe _that's_ why she liked it so much when Chloe took charge—

“I don’t,” she lies quickly. "I mean, I didn't."

Chloe props her head on her fist and bats her eyelashes at Nadine. “Alright, then. If that’s true, it should be easy for you to give me an order.”

"Ja," says Nadine, only half joking. "_Fokkoff_, then."

"Very funny." Chloe's expression turns thoughtful again. "But I want a different sort of order." Her voice lowers into a sultry husk. Nadine feels goosebumps ripple across her arms and torso at the sound. "Tell me..." Chloe drawls, appearing to cast about for a suitable request. Her eyes gleam. “Tell me to—to get on my knees for you.”

Heat erupts in Nadine's chest, spreading to her throat. Her mouth drops open in shock—

And then Chloe cuts her off and laughs suddenly, wiggling her casted ankle. “Well, theoretically, I mean. I couldn’t get down on my knees right now if my bloody life depended on it. We’d have to get a bit more creative.”

Nadine manages a shaky laugh and clears her throat thickly, imagining just how creative that might be, and shifts uncomfortably on the couch.

Another silence descends, even more substantial than the last. Now Nadine does wish she kicked Chloe out earlier. She could be asleep right now.

“Well?” Chloe presses, sounding impatient.

“Well, what?” Nadine had hoped this conversation was over. Clearly, it is not.

“Order me.” When Nadine just stares at her blankly, Chloe’s eyes, moments ago light and playful, go suddenly dark and intent. “I want to hear you say it.”

Nadine opens her mouth. Closes it. It's a simple request, really. Six little words. _ Get on your knees for me_. And yet somehow there's no way she can say them. 

“I could,” she insists stubbornly. “If I wanted to.”

Chloe grins triumphantly. “Sure. But you don’t, do you?” Looking as if she's won something, she turns back to the television, reaching for another beer. “It doesn’t come naturally to you.” 

“And, what?” Nadine says gruffly, annoyed. “It does for you?”

“Course, love,” Chloe says, grinning, opening her beercan with a loud _ kshhht! _ “Look at me. I know what I’m about. Five minutes, and I’ve got the best of ‘em eating out of my hand.”

“Ja,” Nadine scoffs doubtfully. “Believe it when I see it.” 

A second later, she realizes what she’s said and goes still, beyond mortified. Chloe, beer raised halfway to her mouth, is similarly frozen. The canned laughter on the television seems suddenly louder than ever. 

“Well,” says Chloe, after a moment, voice slightly strangled. She puts the full beercan back on the coffee table. “Get the feeling maybe I should be sober for _this_.”

Nadine's heart jolts. Here? _Now?_ There's no—

But then Chloe looks at her and winks, laughing softly, probably at the half-stricken, half-terrified look on Nadine’s face, and says, “Oh, come on, china, I'm joking. Relax.”

Nadine blinks and then laughs weakly, feeling a strange mixture of relieved and… disappointed? 

After that, they go back to watching television, though the conversation is stifled now, and Nadine can't help but notice Chloe doesn't reach for the beer again. Neither does she, for that matter.

Twenty minutes later, Chloe sighs and stands, reaching for her crutches.

“I’m bushed. Think I’ll take a shower and turn in,” she murmurs. “See you in the morning, yeah?" She yawns, clumps off. "G’night, Nadine.”

Nadine doesn't reply, just hums shortly. It's only after Chloe disappears into her bedroom, leaving the door halfway-closed behind her, that it suddenly occurs to her, the significance of Chloe saying goodnight out here in the living room, something she hasn't done before tonight, meaning she doesn't expect Nadine to go check on her or tuck her in, unless—

Chloe's door isn't halfway-closed, she realizes. It's halfway-open. By purposefully saying goodnight out here she's given Nadine the option to follow after her of her own free will. 

The shower starts up. Nadine listens to the muffled chug of the water, the splash of Chloe washing her hair and body, and doesn't change her clothes, lay down or go to sleep like she wanted to earlier. Instead, she stays up, hands clasped in her lap, feeling strangely calm despite the risk she is about to take, and, for the first time in recent memory, makes a life-changing decision without any second-guessing, doubt, or fear to speak of. 

—

She's waiting for Chloe when the other woman steps out of the bathroom, cool steam from the shower rolling in loose clouds behind her, dressed in a thin white shirt with a wide neck hanging lazily off one brown shoulder, hair long, loose and damp, black threads sticking to her neck and back, turning the shirt translucent across her collarbones. Her legs are bare. She doesn't look surprised to see Nadine there, standing by the door as if waiting for direction of some kind. 

(Sad part is, that’s exactly what Nadine is waiting for.)

Chloe smiles at her. Her eyes are warm and kind and affectionate as always. Nadine thinks of all the months they've worked together. How close they’ve grown. How many times they nearly died, but saved each other in the end. How much she trusts her, cares for her. Loves her, even. 

Chloe sits on the bed and puts her crutches on the floor, out of the way.

“Come here,” she says. Her voice is different than usual. Not stern, exactly, or demanding. Just… confident. Expecting.

Nadine walks to her until their feet nearly touch, unadorned peach-colored toenails to candy-apple red, and then stands there, clenching her fists at her sides. She can't look Chloe in the face, not yet, and darts her eyes across her body instead; the hollow of her neck, skin flushed pink from the shower and beaded with moisture; the damp gleam of her long black hair, ends still dripping lightly; the tempting slope of her breast, visible through the gaping collar of her shirt; the dig of her underwear's elastic band into the soft fold of her hip; her dimpled thighs, brushed at their fullest with faint stretch marks; her knees, dotted by old silvery scars from a thousand past falls; her hands, sharp-knuckled and strong, folded patiently in her lap. 

Scarcely able to believe this is happening, Nadine swallows thickly and waits.

Chloe’s voice is a firm, low husk. “Get on your knees for me.”

There is no hesitation. Nadine goes first to one knee, then the other, then sits back on her calves, hands atop her thighs, and lets out a long, shaky breath.

For a time, Chloe doesn't speak. Then, slowly, daringly, she uncrosses her legs, exposing the slightly paler, delicate-looking skin of her inner thighs, tendons standing out in high relief, and the press of thin white cotton against her shadowed crux. Nadine can't help but stare. Chloe looks unspeakably soft, there. Warm. The soap from her shower smells strong and clean and sharp, but beneath there is an underlying haze of thickening arousal. A heady pulse thuds in the back of Nadine’s skull as she breathes it in. She feels intoxicated, even after more than an hour without touching a beer. This, she's sure, has absolutely nothing to do with alcohol, and everything to do with the woman she is knelt in front of now.

She nearly flinches when Chloe's hand brushes her face. Chloe pauses, then tries again, and in a lightly callused palm, cradles Nadine’s cheek. Nadine swallows a whimper at her tenderness, eyelids fluttering. When was the last time someone was so gentle with her, or touched her so carefully? She can't honestly remember.

When she at last dares to look up, Chloe is watching her fondly. Her thumb strokes the divot just below the full of Nadine's bottom lip, and she wonders if, maybe, Chloe will kiss her, and feels an illicit thrill, the idea almost more scandalous than anything else they might do next. 

Chloe’s eyes flit across Nadine's face, from her chin to her mouth to her brow to her eyes, taking in all of her hundreds of subtle micro-expressions. Rather than grow embarrassed or afraid under the scrutiny, it makes Nadine feels better. She knows, then, that if Chloe senses even a fraction of hesitation within her, she will stop.

Satisfied with whatever it is she was searching for, Chloe bites her lip and whispers, “Take off my underwear.”

Nadine shudders and closes her eyes briefly, letting the words sink in. Never has she wanted to follow a command more.

With hands that feel big and clumsy, she reaches forward, twitching the hem of Chloe’s loose white shirt up and out of the way, and curls the tips of her fingers under the elastic band stretched tight over Chloe’s soft hips. Chloe didn't say, _ cop a feel_, or _ take your time_, so Nadine tries not to linger or let her hands wander too far, and delicately pulls and rolls the scrap of cloth below Chloe’s bottom—Chloe braces herself helpfully on one arm and lifts so Nadine can pull it out from under her—and then works down and around the cast on her ankle to the floor, Chloe lifting her feet one at a time to free herself.

And then, quite suddenly, Chloe Frazer is sitting there on the bed in front of a kneeling Nadine Ross, naked from the waist down. 

Nadine swallows again, her limbs gone heavy with emotion. The underwear in her hand is soft, still warm from Chloe’s body. Under her thumb, she feels a damp spot. Chloe is wet. She wants this.

“Nadine,” Chloe whispers. Nadine jerks as if from a trance and looks up at her helplessly. “Stop me, if I make you do something you don’t want.”

At that—the idea that Chloe could or would ever force her to do anything—Nadine nearly laughs. She is the one who has twenty pounds on her partner. She is the one packed with dense muscle and ferocious strength. The one who knows dozens of ways to kill a man with just one hand. 

And still, Chloe is protecting her, despite all her bluster, all her cocky confidence in this. It makes Nadine's heart ache, just thinking about it. 

In answer, she gives a weak smile and hopes it will be enough. Chloe returns it, and then her expression cools until it is so haughty and aloof Nadine squirms, right there on her knees in front of her.

The hand on Nadine’s cheek drifts further back, over her ear, fingers sinking into the mass of thick, loose hair at the back of her head. Chloe takes a healthy grip—Nadine’s toes curl at the pinch and pull of her scalp, already breathless—and then holds her there for a long moment. Nadine feels faint. Her mind is blank. She hears nothing but her own harsh breathing, and Chloe’s—slower than hers, but ragged in its own way. She can't move, can't speak. All she can do is wait.

(She wonders, fleetingly, if they'll stop now. Chloe's proven her point, after all. Yet somehow Nadine knows her partner would never be so cruel, and is relieved.) 

Chloe’s hips shift, positioning herself closer to the edge of the bed, her knees bumping Nadine’s shoulders. Her cast scrapes against the side of Nadine’s bare arm. Held in place, Nadine trembles and feels a hot, dizzy rush at the sight of wide-spread thighs, only inches away from her face; Chloe’s pubic hair is dark and neatly trimmed, framing puffy inner lips flushed a dark pink, already pouting halfway open, glistening with wetness. The smell of her is stronger now. Intense. The sharp, nervous hunger within Nadine shifts into something more—a ravenous need; an unrelenting desire to please. Her mouth waters. 

She waits.

At last, Chloe gives her command.

In a playful sort of tone, she says, “This isn’t exactly the palm of my hand, but let’s see how you do eating it anyways,” and tugs Nadine’s head closer—

—though really, she doesn't have to tug much at all, since Nadine is already swaying forward; one moment, she's gulping for air, breathing in the warm spice of Chloe's musky scent, the next, she's face-first in the hot, sweet slick of her, and everything else fades away. 

"_Mmm_," she groans, the sound of it low and rumbling, half-muffled with her mouth full as it is. Chloe tastes strong, heavy, with just the slightest tinge of sweetness lingering at the back of Nadine's throat with every swallow. She kisses at her slippery folds like she would an open mouth; her tongue is a soft, lapping swirl, her lips a damp, teasing suction, the lean thighs on either side of her jaw squeezing and flexing at her head as the hand on her nape ratchets tighter than ever.

"Just like that," Chloe husks, somewhere above. Eyes closed, intent on her task, Nadine feels a dizzying rush at the encouragement, at the knowledge she is doing well. She wants nothing more than to make Chloe happy.

Slowly—she's always liked to take her time when she goes down on a woman, and this will be no exception (unless, of course, Chloe says otherwise, impatient thing she is)—she nuzzles, sucks and licks at every bit of Chloe she can reach with such an iron-grip on the back of her head; her tightly swollen labia, red and throbbing with arousal; the sweat-warmed crease where thigh meets groin and the single band of muscle there, trembling madly; her soaked inner and outer folds, petals so hot and wet it almost feels as if she's melting in Nadine's mouth.

Every so often, she has to pull back slightly against the fist holding her in place and rasp for air, light-headed and gasping, and licks at the sticky remnants smeared across her mouth, Chloe hitching and flinching with every stray, fleeting pass of her tongue and hot puff of breath against her over-sensitized skin before Nadine dives back in for more.

She strokes her mouth over Chloe's mess once, then twice, and finds the hard knot of her clit above, and traces her tongue up one thick side and down the other before sucking at the whole of her as she would a juicy peach. The grip on her nape tightens until it hurts. Nadine ignores it, taking the stiffened bud into her mouth and batting at it relentlessly with her tongue, rapid-fire.

“_Ah_,” Chloe gasps, hips jumping uncontrollably, bumping Nadine's nose against the jut of her pubic bone, hard enough to startle her. Nadine's hands lift from her lap, intent on holding Chloe down—

“No," Chloe snaps, and immediately Nadine's hands are back on her knees, seizing the fabric of her worn sweatpants until she hears a creak. "Just your mouth." 

Nadine stifles a whimper and obeys. She licks deeper. Sucks harder. She can barely breathe. She's wet to her chin now. Even her cheeks feel sticky. She has a feeling Chloe likes messy, just as she kept her apartment, and makes no attempt for clean and polite, kissing wet and sloppy and noisy at her sopping heat. Chloe moans, and her thighs suddenly relax, as though unable to hold Nadine still anymore, though the hand remains on her nape, tight as ever.

Another shaky order comes. “Look at me.”

Nadine looks. Above her, Chloe is beautiful, partially-reclined on one elbow, free hand white-knuckle on the mattress, belly trembling with the effort of keeping herself upright. Her face is red, neck flushed and sweaty, teeth digging into the plush of her bottom lip. Her thick, half-dry hair hangs in frizzy threads, clinging to her temples and throat. Her eyes are glassy. Through her thin white shirt, her nipples prick and strain. Nadine buries a moan at the sight, and Chloe gasps at the vibration, squirming excitedly against Nadine's face, making her messier than ever.

Bold now, Nadine disobeys Chloe for an instant, using her hands only long enough to lift Chloe’s limply spread legs and place them over her shoulders, so her calves dangle down her back. The cast on Chloe’s ankle digs hard into her shoulderblade, but Nadine ignores it. At this angle, she can work her mouth harder. Plunge her tongue deeper. Can take more of Chloe in. Can spread her thighs even further to reach all of her.

Chloe makes an approving sound, her hips rutting harshly. “_Fuck_.” Her ankles cross behind Nadine's neck and squeeze. Nadine groans from the constricting force of it, the pressure of Chloe's knees and thighs against her ears and face. She can barely move, barely breathe, barely hear. All that exists is Chloe's taste and smell and wetness. Her jaw aches fiercely from the strain. Her tongue is practically numb. Her lips tingle. She licks harder, chasing the wetness to the source for more. Then she latches back onto Chloe's fiercely swollen clit and sucks. She looks up. Chloe is watching her. Their eyes meet and hold.

When Chloe comes, it's sudden and almost violent. She jerks, blunt fingernails pinching in Nadine’s sore nape, the legs wrapped around Nadine’s neck constricting almost to the point of suffocation. Chloe quivers and pulses against the flat of Nadine's tongue for several drawn out moments, a soft series of "_Ah, ah, ah_,” leaving her mouth—Nadine doesn't stop what she's doing, coaxing Chloe through the spasms of her climax into another, gentler round—and then abruptly folds forward, collapsing partly against Nadine, who bears her weight with ease, resting her messy face against Chloe's damp, dew-streaked inner thigh, gasping for breath. Every part of her is buzzing, like a limb waking from sleep. 

After a time, Chloe sits up with a groan, looking dazed but happy.

“That,” she says, “was bloody _ fantastic_.” A lazy smile crosses her face, and she shakes her head. “No, you. _ You _ were fantastic." The grip on the back of Nadine's neck finally releases, Chloe's hand returning to cup Nadine's flushed, sticky cheek. "Come here," Chloe groans. "Let me clean you up.” Taking Nadine by the chin, she pulls her face close and then begins to lick at her with slow, dragging swipes of her tongue. Nadine keeps still but for her trembling, eyelids falling shut, chest still heaving for air. Chloe licks all over her face, but avoids Nadine's mouth with neglectful purpose. Nadine nearly moans aloud, deprived.

“Now,” Chloe says once she's finished, leaning back with an air of supreme satisfaction. “I think you’ve earned a reward, now, haven’t you?”

Nadine doesn't dare answer, not wanting Chloe to know just how desperate she feels in that moment, like she's about to burst.

But Chloe seems to sense it anyways, that cocky smirk edging its way onto her lips, and without further ado, she puts her slightly sweaty palm on Nadine’s flat, heaving stomach over her shirt and slides down, under the waistband of her sweatpants, pushing briskly past her underwear to cup the heat of her roughly. Nadine gasps at the feel and cries out in a high-pitched voice. It's almost a squeak. It's beyond embarrassing—Nadine's sure she’s never in her life made a noise like that. 

Chloe, thankfully, doesn't call it to attention, just squeezes again at her and makes a hungry sort of hum in the back of her throat, like she likes the feel of Nadine in her hand. Nadine is wet enough that Chloe's palm is immediately soaked. At the first twitch of her finger against the hard pulse of her clit, Nadine realizes with a start it will only take her literal minutes to come, maybe less.

"There now," Chloe coos, and Nadine shudders at her raspy, comforting tone. "That's better, isn't it?" Her hand begins a slow, back and forth rub over the whole of her, fingertips occasionally dipping further back for more wetness, though Nadine can practically _hear_ the way her sopping folds squish with every pass. She stays quiet, biting hard at the inside of her mouth, unsure if she's allowed to make noise or not, though the very idea—that she may or may not be allowed to do certain things right now—gives her a ferocious, needy little quiver.

With her free hand, Chloe pulls up the hem of Nadine's shirt and holds it there against her chest, baring Nadine’s starkly muscled abdomen to the room, Chloe's eyes going dark and intent and wicked as she watches the way she twitches and flexes from the effort of keeping still. A bead of sweat rolls down Nadine's side and onto the furrowed ridge between hip and lower stomach, and Chloe bites her lip and rubs harder. It takes every ounce of discipline Nadine's ever earned from all those years in Shoreline not to move. It's barely been a few minutes, and already she's so close, there's not stopping it—

“Well?” Chloe says suddenly, with that arched eyebrow that drives Nadine crazy.

Nadine's breath stutters, hazily confused. What—?

Oh, Jesus, she realizes. Chloe wants her to ask permission to come.

“I—” says Nadine. Chloe's rapid back and forth rub turns into a harsh circular motion, the rough of her palm catching the slight bulge of Nadine's clit. She smirks at the way Nadine's entire torso clenches as she forces herself from the brink. “_Please_.”

Chloe makes a face, like she's thinking about it. Nadine almost yelps. Then she smirks again, and leans in close, so their faces are only inches away. Her breath is hot and smells of her own sweet-edged musk.

“Next time,” she says in a dangerous purr, “you’re going to beg a lot more prettily than that."

Next time, Nadine thinks. They're going to do this again. They—

She comes, then, with a snapping force that jerks her straight upright on her knees with her head cricked back to the sky. Soft grunts escape her clenched teeth, eyes squeezed shut so tight she sees stars. Chloe's hand slows but doesn't stop. Nadine can feel herself twitching against her soaked palm, and shudders hard. She feels entirely soft and drained. Her legs are shaking as she lowers herself back down to sit on her calves, her bare, heaving stomach lined with sweat.

Chloe kisses her then. Nadine, wrecked, gulping for breath, almost doesn't realize it's happening until a tongue flickers across her bottom lip, making her blink at the ticklish sensation. Her head rises, but before she can kiss back, Chloe huffs happily against her mouth, pulling away a fraction. 

“Good girl,” she hums against Nadine's lips, smiling down at her with those dark, hooded eyes of hers, then sways forward to kiss her again, slower than before, her tongue making a warm pass through her slack mouth. Nadine returns it as best she can, kissing dazedly until Chloe pulls back again, their lips parting with a wet smack. She gasps when Chloe cruelly reclaims her hand from where it's been tucked between her throbbing legs, swollen and oversensitive and so wet it's suddenly terribly uncomfortable. Chloe makes a soft, apologetic sound, and then sets to licking her dew-soaked fingers and palm as Nadine watches helplessly.

“Was that good?” Chloe asks, once she's finished cleaning up.

“Yes,” Nadine croaks, not sure what else she should say. _ Thank you? _Then she realizes Chloe isn't just asking about the orgasm, or the sex itself, but this new thing between them. "Yes," she says again, more firmly.

"Good," says Chloe, visibly pleased, then collapses backward on her bed. She's still quite naked from the waist down, and with her legs spread like that Nadine can see, well, everything, and even though only a few moments ago she was face first down there, intimately acquainted, as it were, she finds herself looking away now. Not embarrassed, really. Just… overwhelmed. By what they’ve done, and how she feels about it.

Groaning, Chloe folds her legs up and draws them onto her mattress so she can lie on her side. She looks terribly beautiful like that, Nadine realizes, watching her; half-naked, thin white shirt rumpled, hair mussed, cheeks rosy from sex. She smiles dopily at Nadine.

“You can sleep here, if you like," she says quietly.

Nadine hesitates. The offer is kind, but she can tell Chloe already expects her to decline, and she can't deny she feels the rising need to leave and take some time to herself to get her head on right. Lesbians and their processing. 

She shakes her head, and Chloe smiles in understanding. Nadine gets shakily to her feet. Suddenly she is looming over Chloe, there on the bed, who watches her quietly with drooping eyes. Nadine reaches down and brings the covers up and over Chloe’s bare hips.

“Thanks,” Chloe says, sleepily. 

“Ja,” says Nadine. Her throat is hoarse, and she tries to clear it. “Let me know if you need anything.” 

“Sure.” Chloe smiles at her again. This time there is no teasing to it at all. Just a glowing affection that makes Nadine’s stomach flop. Chloe's lids drift closed, and then her body goes lax as she drowses off. Nadine watches her, enraptured.

Then she turns and leaves the room.

In the half-bath, she cleans herself as best she can, then changes her clothes and sits on the couch in the dark, thinking. About what will change now, and what will stay the same. Some of it scares her. Some excites her. All of it is different, and new.

This quirk of Nadine's... Chloe knew. Of course she did. She always had. Nadine remembers the smug look she gave her, that day with Cassie on the beach. And then recently, all those times since she arrived here in London. Saying such sweet things, and telling her _good girl_ like that was normal. It's so obvious now. That's what Chloe was doing with the tea a few days ago. She was testing Nadine’s limits. Trying to find the point in which she would get angry, or upset, or refuse. She saw so easily what Nadine was trying so hard to hide.

And Chloe didn't laugh at her, or call her strange, or make jokes like Drake had. If anything, she likes it. Encourages it, even. Nadine doesn't have to hide, with her.

Realizing this, Nadine feels something she hasn't in some time. Safe.

It's almost 2AM before Nadine gets up, grabs a pillow, and returns to Chloe’s bedroom. It's difficult, navigating her room in the dark, what with all the things strewn about on the floor, but finally she reaches the bedside and gets in, trying to be quiet about it, pulling the covers back slowly and shifting herself on with care, but as soon as her weight drops fully onto the mattress, Chloe startles awake.

"Muh?" she groans, then turns over and sees Nadine—frozen, eyes wide—and flops back down. Grumbling, she shifts aside to make some room. Charmed and a little amused, Nadine stretches out next to her, mindful of taking up too much space in the small bed, though as soon as she's settled, Chloe shoves her way forward and latches onto her like a koala bear, or maybe a sloth. The sudden closeness is a lot. Nadine swallows tightly at the warm smell of her, the soft feel of her body, naked from the waist down.

"Sorry if I snore," Chloe mumbles into Nadine's neck.

"Ja," says Nadine, strangely nervous. It's been some time since she last slept in someone's bed, but she finds the weight on her chest is pleasant. She matches her breathing her Chloe's, and soon enough, the world goes dark and dreamy around her, and she sleeps.

—

Chloe _is _snoring when Nadine rouses in the morning. It's barely louder than when she breathes normally, just a soft hiss of air with a rasp on the end, and rather than find it annoying, Nadine decides she loves the sound. She stirs only enough to check the time. It's early. Usually, she'd be up and about by now, but with Chloe pressed so close it's hard to imagine moving. Deciding to indulge, she lets herself drift back to sleep, and wakes an hour or so later. Chloe's still out cold on her shoulder. Still snoring.

By 8AM, Nadine can't stay in bed anymore, and carefully extricates herself from her bedmate, gets up and goes to the kitchen. There, as quietly as she can, she cooks Chloe breakfast, then goes to wake her, surprised the noise or the smell hasn't already.

Chloe is face-first in Nadine’s pillow, one arm trapped under herself, the other flung outward, as though searching for something. She stirs at the touch to her shoulder, making a sound like an irritated cat, then rolls over with bleary eyes, sees Nadine, and smiles up at her drowsily.

"Morning," she mumbles, then rises to her elbow, sways forward and kisses her, morning breath and all. Nadine's stomach does a somersault at the casual affection. This might be something she won't mind getting used to.

“That bacon I smell?” Chloe asks as she pulls away, flopping back on her stolen pillow and fighting a yawn.

"Ja," says Nadine. "I made you breakfast."

Chloe rubs her face, laughs. “Christ. You’re going to spoil me rotten, aren’t you?”

Nadine smiles and ducks her head, suddenly shy, wondering if maybe she's gone a bit overboard, but Chloe’s hand flashes out and takes her by the chin, just like she did last night. Chloe looks deep into her eyes, then kisses her again, a bit more firmly than before. 

“I mean it, Nadine,” she says lowly. “You’re wonderful. I love the way you treat me. Makes me feel good, you know?”

This time, Nadine bites the inside of her cheek but doesn't look away, letting herself accept the praise rather than brush it off like she usually did. Hearing it still makes her want to squirm, but it also makes her feel good about herself. Happy. There isn't anything wrong with wanting it. She's still Nadine.

“Ja," she says, too full of emotion for more.

“Keep this up,” Chloe teases, kicking back the sheets so she can swing her casted foot to the floor, “and maybe I’ll break my other ankle.”

“Don’t you dare,” Nadine replies.

Chloe laughs and finds a pair of shorts from the floor and puts them on with Nadine's help. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'd say date night was a right smash, don't you think?"

Nadine smiles. Really, she couldn't agree more.

**Author's Note:**

> chlodine week day 4: date night
> 
> lol what kind of a sucker has a praise kink
> 
> *longingly reads and re-reads fic comments*


End file.
